


Doyoubitachi

by carpfish



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Gen, Gen Fic, Remix
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-28
Updated: 2014-08-28
Packaged: 2018-02-15 03:02:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2213295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carpfish/pseuds/carpfish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Are you coming?” Aomine asks, as Kuroko snaps on his wristbands. </p><p>Kuroko nods once as he climbs onto Aomine’s bike, perching atop the handlebars with a popsicle in one hand and a basketball in the other. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”</p><p>A triptych.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Doyoubitachi

**Author's Note:**

  * For [100demons](https://archiveofourown.org/users/100demons/gifts).



> Hi there, 100demons! It's me again! :D Seems like we have chemistry when it comes to these challenges lol I took a pretty literal interpretation of remix, oops. I loved how poignant your scenes were, and tried to keep that lovely bittersweet feel in my own way. (tbh I don't write Kuroko, Aomine, or Kagami a lot, so hope there weren't too many problems with characterization?) Hope you don't mind my writing, and enjoy the piece! Thanks!
> 
> In the end, these boys just love basketball. ; v ;

_sometimes a man gets carried away, when he feels like he should be having his fun_

“Are you coming?” Aomine asks, as Kuroko snaps on his wristbands.

Kuroko nods once as he climbs onto Aomine’s bike, perching atop the handlebars with a popsicle in one hand and a basketball in the other. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

He turns to look at Aomine expectantly. Aomine tosses his popsicle stick into the trash, gets into the bike seat, and begins pedaling the both of them down the road. Kuroko feels the bike shudder with every bump, and the rapid staccato of vibrations matches the thumping beat in his chest as they cruise towards the court for their weekly streetball game.

 Aomine’s bike is an old, battered thing, with a headlamp that flickers when in use, and frame that’s riddled with dents and scratches. It’s a hand-me-down of a hand-me-down that they’d found at some second-hand sale, and its only benefit is that it can’t look any worse than it already does, so Aomine’s free to crash into things. The bike is so stiff that its front wheel can’t turn more than thirty degrees to either side. As they round familiar street corners, Aomine and Kuroko lean to the side as one, cutting it close by the pavement as the bike creaks with every _click-click-click_ movement the chain.

The grunginess of the bike is matched only by the wear of their sports shoes, rubber soles glued back on more times than they can count, and shoelaces frayed at the edges. Their t-shirts and basketball shorts are both stained with ice cream and summer sweat, and the only clean object between the both of them is the basketball: freshly pumped and vibrantly orange, cradled in the nook of Kuroko’s arm.

The gears on this bike are jammed, so climbing up the hill is always more laborous than it needs to be. The bikes jitters and sways from the force of Aomine’s pedaling. A sudden jolt startles Kuroko mid-lick, and as his hand darts towards the handlebars to steady himself, the popsicle slips from between his fingers and falls to the ground. Kuroko watches his popsicle melt the asphalt with a rueful gaze. “I wasn’t even halfway finished with it,” he says quietly, turning to look at Aomine with wide, reproachful eyes.

Aomine makes a ‘tch’ sound with his tongue, but nods with acquiescence. “I’ll buy you a new one,” he offers, and Kuroko considers this heavy proposal for a moment before shaking his head.

“A vanilla shake.”

“What?” Aomine protests, looking up from his pedaling, face twisting with dissent. “But that’s more than double the cost of a popsicle!”

Kuroko shrugs, and faces the front, as if that settles the matter. The span of Kuroko’s back, the bony slant of his shoulders, is all that Aomine can see. When Kuroko turns around to speak again, Aomine notices that his tongue and lips are faintly colored blue from the popsicle. 

“Aomine-kun?”

“Hm?”

“Please stop.”

Aomine snaps back into focus just in time to feel the sudden lurch as the bike drops onto the downhill side of the slope that he’s somehow missed. They’re rapidly gaining speed, and Aomine frantically clicks the brakes in an attempt to slow down their descent, but to no avail. Seems like the breaks are faulty too, that seems dangerous. The bright glare of the afternoon sun reflecting of metal soon resolves into the shape of a sleek, densely-populated bike rack full of bikes that surely would cost a lot to repair. In desperation, Aomine throws the handlebars to the side, nearly tipping Kuroko off in the process, and squeezes his eyes closed, hoping for the best.

“Shit shit shit shit shit!”

Their tumble is broken by the basketball court’s fence, and while the imprint of woven wire may be bruised into the side of Kuroko’s face, both boys and the bike appear relatively intact. Kuroko climbs off the handlebars of the bike as Aomine checks for damage, unable to tell new dents from the old. Kuroko walks over to where he’d dropped their basketball near the bike rack, and tucks it beneath his arm again before facing Aomine.

“You’re buying me ice for this,” He says, cradling his bruised cheek.

Aomine cringes.

“Fine, a vanilla shake it is.”

\--

Kuroko ends up with more than one bruise that afternoon. Aomine passes a Majiburger vanilla shake into his hands, and Kuroko presses the plastic cup up against his swollen eye, enjoying the numbing coolness of the condensation. “Nijimura’s going to give you laps when he sees that black eye,” Aomine predicts, and Kuroko shrugs.

“Every action has its consequences. The laps will be worth it,” Kuroko replies neatly, his slim form on the park bench brimming with quiet certainty.

Aomine nods in agreement. “Probably. Jeez, that guy was a total asshole though. Stepping on toes, elbows to the face.” He casts an annoyed look at the bruise blossoming on Kuroko’s skin. Dropping to sit next to Kuroko, Aomine kick out his legs and looks up to the sky. The sun is sinking down the hillside, dipping the edges of trees in golden light.

“Y’know Tetsu, if you have to confront someone, you could at least tell me first so that you can get some back-up in a fight.”

Kuroko makes a noncommittal grunting sound, clearly unhappy with being lectured by Aomine of all people, and presses the vanilla shake closer to his eye.

“And from now on, your buying your own ice for you own bruises.”

\--

_and much too blind to see the damage he's done_

When the train jolts to a halt at Ikebukuro, Kuroko’s library card falls to the floor with a sound that is lost in the chaos of shuffling feet and moving bodies. Kuroko reaches down to retrieve it, trying to avoid getting his hand stepped on in the process. He brushes the card off, fingers glancing across neatly printed return dates and book titles. _Amrita_ , Oscar Wilde, to be returned on July 30th. _Real World_ , Natsuo Kirino, to be returned August 5th. The grid on the card is nearly stamped full, and Kuroko observes that he’ll have to get a new one soon. He tucks the library card back into the back of his book, and continues working through the third chapter of _Amrita_.

At Yoyogi, Kuroko looks up at the electronic display showing the station name. He got onto the Yamanote Line at this station. This is the third time he’s passed it, and his eyes are starting to throb with fatigue. Only now does he notice that his music has stopped playing. One loop of his playlist takes three hours. Without music to drown the sounds out, he can hear the buzz of background chatter, the screech of wheels grinding against steel tracks, the hiss and thump of doors parting to let forth floods of people.

Kuroko places his library card in the center of the pages as a bookmark and places the novel back in his bag. Instead, he pulls out a workbook of math problems and a pen. High school entrance exams are coming soon.  

\--

Kuroko’s shadow stretches out behind him as he walks home after five hours on the Yamanote Line. The train is busy on Saturday afternoons, and Kuroko has had to fend off more people from sitting on his lap than he would like to count. In one hand, he holds his book, while the other traces the loops and weaves of the twisted wire fence along the road. Kuroko can hear the sound of dull rubber bouncing against ground from the other side of the fence, and he feels the force of thumping feet through the vibrations in the ground.

Kuroko keeps his nose buried in the book, and walks past without looking.

\--

_sometimes a man must awake to find that really, he has no-one_

The sun creeps over the top of the hills, and although the sky is still dark, Kuroko has long been awake. Kagami’s footfalls echo as loud slaps of worn basketball shoes against pavement, with Kuroko’s softer footsteps in the intervals. The ball is cradled snugly in the nook of Kuroko’s shoulder, fitting as comfortably as if it was made to be there. Both boys’ shirts are soaked with sweat as they slowly meander down the brightening street.

“That was crazy,” Kagami snorts, weaving his fingers together behind his head. “I can’t believe we played through the whole night.”

Kuroko shrugs, both in disbelief in agreement. “We didn’t exactly keep track of the time. I’m surprised that I didn’t pass out on the court.” What had started as a friendly one-on-one between rivals had evolved into full-on competition, and for the entire night the street court had been filled with the sound of squeaking sneakers and ecstatic shouts.

Kagami rubs his eyes, showing the first signs of fatigue after a strenuous all-nighter. “It’s not like I expected the rest of your Miracle buddies to come along. I only challenged Aomine to a one on one, how’d the rest of them get involved?” As annoyed as he may sound, his tone is light and devoid of any real complaint.

Kuroko spins the basketball in his hands, taking measured steps as he lists out the progression of events in a matter-of-fact manner. “Well, you invited Aomine-kun, then Kise-kun caught wind of it from Momoi-san, who goes wherever Aomine-kun goes. Kise-kun came along because he’s always been too curious for his own good, and because he never cultivated a self-preservation instinct, he texted everyone else about it. Midorima-kun said that he came because it’s lucky for him to stay close to Leos and Virgos today, and Murasakibara-kun joined in because you were providing catering. Nobody knows what Akashi-kun is doing here.”

For a long moment, Kagami is silent. Then his face twists into a cringe of confusion, and he shakes his head. “Wow, you guys are all crazy fuckers.” The sky is beginning to light up with the first hints of illumination and color, sun slowly rising through the masses of cloud. The streetlights collectively flicker for a moment before turning off.

The footsteps stop suddenly, and then Kuroko places one hand on the weaved wire fence, gripping the loops with his fingers. He looks at Kagami, before bouncing the ball towards him, which Kagami catches.

“You knew there would be another court on this route,” Kagami states, more a realization than an accusation as he surveys the empty streetball court, and his fingers begin to itch for action. “One more?” He turns to look at where Kuroko was standing, but finds the space quite empty. Kagami whips his head around to face the street court, only to find that Kuroko has already set down his bag and has begun rolling up his sleeves.

“Are you coming?” Kuroko asks, as he snaps on his black wristbands.

Kagami gives him a wolfish grin. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”


End file.
